A/N: Wow. This one took a while. Just over seven months. Sorry about that! Life got in the way, then other kinds of life, and then a third kind. Hopefully it doesn't happen again.
The following work was beta'd by BSG-Legacy and MeganD.
Bioware owns lots of things, etc.
EDIT 8/28/14: Okay, so I fixed a lot of problems that were brought to my attention in regards to this chapter in relation to the others. Lack of consistency, for the most part, so I altered the plot points and pacing of this chapter pretty significantly. I highly suggest giving this one another read, because if you go forward with the old version in your head, nothing will make sense.
A big thank you to NarwhalWarlord for pointing out the lack of 'Happy Madness'! I honestly couldn't have described it better myself.
-(|)-
They'd made it back. Shepard wasn't sure how, but she knew they were safe. She sighed and slid down the side of the IFV, resting her head against the massive tires. Her eyes lolled, and she rubbed them to keep herself as awake and alert as she could. She looked up to see the rest of—-who were they to her, exactly? Her friends? Her team? As she made eye contact with Miranda, she decided it didn't matter at the moment.
She gave the group a weary wave. "Hey. This is where I live. It's...uhm..." She furrowed her brow, struggling to focus. "...something that Zaeed can explain."
Zaeed rolled his eyes and lazily described the area around him. "Elevator, armory, shitter, kitchen, couch, beds." He huffed. "Questions?"
"How did you manage to acquire something like this?" said Miranda, sounding slightly impressed as she looked around Shepard's humbly furnished home. "On a mercenary's salary, no less."
"Killed the warlord who owned it," he said. "Fixed it up. Now it's a goddamn bunker. Even got the outer walls reinforced with cruiser armor." Zaeed knocked his knuckles against the wall. "Sure as hell wasn't cheap."
Shepard felt her mind fog up as she started to zone out, only catching bits and pieces of the rest of the conversation. She tried to focus on the matter at hand: getting the spectre off of the station, but the thoughts simply wouldn't come to her.
"...more afraid of getting shot in the head again than my throat slit, bird, but now my eyes are gonna be on you like a goddamn hawk since you brought it up," growled Zaeed.
"I couldn't possibly end the life of a man who cheated death itself. A waste of both of our talents," said Quarn, his oddly smooth dual toned warble resonating throughout the room. Turians weren't typically a people that Shepard considered charming, but clearly the one they'd picked up was an exception. A confusing exception, but one all the same.
"Would like to run tests on-" said Mordin hopefully.
"How many fucking times do I have to say no?!" Zaeed tapped his massive bullet wound. "Off limits, you understand? If I don't let fucking asari in there, so I'm sure as hell not gonna let you do any poking around."
Shepard opened her left eye as she felt someone sit down next to her. Miranda's dark, lustrous hair filled her vision and poked her right in the eye. She rubbed it and blinked a few times. "Watch the hair, Miranda. Either tie it back or get it cut to something sensible," she mumbled.
"Sorry. I just needed to step away from the conversation for a moment. Your friends are..." She cleared her throat. "...very opinionated."
"YES. IT'S A REAL EYE. STOP FUCKING STARING AT IT!" yelled Zaeed, his face red with anger at Ceres.
"I'm just trying to admire the craftsmanship." sighed Ceres, exasperated. "Apparently, siari skipped over you at birth."
"The hell does that even mean?!"
"It means stop talking and show me where I can move the spectre."
Zaeed scowled at the asari doctor and shot his arm down one of the hallways, toward Shepard's room. Without another word, Ceres wheeled the unconscious spectre down the hall and out of sight.
Shepard groaned softly. "Zaeed's more of a business partner than a friend, as much as I hate to admit it. Ceres is just the surgeon who fixes me up every few weeks. If anyone is my friend here, it's Mordin." She frowned. "Probably just out of scientific curiosity, but still. That's just how salarians work, I think," she grumbled.
"What about me?" asked Miranda.
Shepard shot her an unamused sidelong look. "If you have to ask, that answers your question." She closed her eyes again and leaned back against the IFV. "Neither enemy, nor friend. Take it or leave it. Which is pretty good, considering you haven't tried to kill me. Yet." Shepard laughed breathlessly. "That's how Zaeed and I met, and I certainly trust him not to stab me in the back."
Zaeed, who was now unloading the IFV of it's many weapons and body bags full of energy drinks, protein bars, and medical supplies. "Yeah, well, you're better at knives than I am, so it wouldn't do much good, now would it?"
Shepard rolled her eyes. "Guess not. Toss me a Tupari and one of those energy bars, would you?"
Zaeed scoffed as he dragged the last bag down the ramp. "If it'll get you off of your ass, sure, why the hell not." He ripped open the bag and lobbed a half dozen of each lazily in her direction. "You look like shit, by the way. Smell like it, too."
Miranda screwed up her face. "I wasn't going to say anything, but you smell absolutely horrid."
Shepard frowned as she was pelted with cans and packaged goods. "Thanks for the reminder, you two. Really boosts my confidence," she said with enough sarcasm to drown a krogan. She tore open an energy bar, inhaled it, and then proceeded to guzzle down a can of Tupari. "Zaeed, do me a favor and keep an eye on the bird until we can figure out what to do with him. I need some time to decompress and think." She got back up to her feet, using the IFV for balance.
"Babysit the bird. Alright, fine. Not like I've got anything better to do right now..." he said with a shrug. "Can't exactly work on Jayne, now can I..." he grumbled, sounding pained at the loss of his car. "You're goddamn-" Zaeed was interrupted by a credit chit being whipped at his forehead. He growled and picked it up off the ground.
"Paying for it. I get it. There's your goddamn money, so stop whining about it," snarled Shepard.
Zaeed furrowed his brow at her. "Still doesn't cover the bet."
Shepard roared and haphazardly tossed a dozen credit chits at him in frustration. "There! Okay? Take it! Take all the fucking money! Just watch the goddamn bird!" She turned to the turian, still scowling. "Don't do anything stupid. And Mordin-" She then swung around toward Mordin, who had apparently already set up his equipment and gotten to work without her noticing. "Okay, yeah, keep doing that."
"Progress already being made! Optimistic. Shouldn't take very long to finish! Actual implantation procedure likely problematic, but not currently relevant," said Mordin, apparently unfazed and apathetic of Shepard's sudden outburst.
Miranda rose to her feet and took a step toward Shepard. "Do you need me to do anything?"
Shepard clenched her teeth. "I'm not your boss, Miranda. Do whatever you want, as long as you don't touch or break anything important. Or expensive. Or volatile, or fragile, or big. I don't care."
Miranda cleared her throat. "I suppose I'll see if Doctor Ceres needs any assistance, then."
"Great. Fantastic. Play nurse. I'm going to take a shower," she said as she quickly made her way into the bathroom and sealed the door. She didn't need anymore bullshit or snide retorts right then. She took a moment to clear her head in the relative silence and privacy, but inadvertently ended up getting slammed against the wall by the weight of the clusterfuck that she'd gotten herself into.
The situation, one that was actually of galactic importance rather than just a politician claiming it to be, was not something she had any experience in dealing with. Ground wars, sure. Infiltration, assassination, sabotage, espionage, all with her eyes closed. Shepard was a graduate of ICT, which meant she was trained, and certified, in essentially everything when it came to anything even remotely related to warfare. But a stationwide lockdown degenerating into total anarchy with an infestation of an intelligent swarm of demons coupled with the possibility of triggering a centuries-long intragalactic war was not something she was prepared for.
That was what spectres were for, and Shepard was no spectre.
Shepard grabbed a towel off of the rack and shoved her face into it. She roared as loud as she possibly could into the makeshift muffler, straining her throat as she relieved as much stress as she could without appearing weak in front of those around her. They clearly needed a leader, and since Vasir was out of commission, everyone assumed that she should take on the role. She didn't want the job, not again, not ever, but it was clear that she didn't have a choice in the matter.
She looked up at the mirror, meeting her haggard gaze. "You can do this. You've made the impossible possible before, and you can do it again. As long as you don't lose sight of the big picture, you'll make it through this," she whispered, hoping her tired words would somehow encourage herself.
Shepard sighed softly and ran her fingers through her sticky, slick hair. "Die in blood, or don't at all."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, repeating the mantra several more times under her breath. In all honesty, she had never quite figured out exactly what that phrase meant. She didn't have a clue, actually. But she was almost positive that Jon Grissom had said it, so that was enough.
Still, she felt disgusting and dirty. Her 'borrowed' clothes slithered back and forth on her skin, and she suddenly became aware of how much blood was in her shoes. She took them off to find that the skin on the soles of her feet was almost entirely raw.
"Oh my God," she whispered. Without a second thought, she hopped in the shower and washed herself as thoroughly as possible. After finishing her business, she felt considerably better, but still made sure to inspect herself in the mirror before declaring herself truly clean. Her fingers unconsciously ran across the mark on her sternum, and she felt a surge of guilt and anxiety burn through her.
"I can be a weapon for you, but I don't want to be a toy. Do you own me?"
"If I owned you, you'd know. Get over yourself, Shepard. You don't pay a slave."
"...but you do buy your toys." She sat down on the toilet and hugged her towel. At this rate, Aria would have no other choice but to force her into slavery to ensure Shepard's protection. It'd be her own fault, too. She needed to stop acting out so much.
This whole clusterfuck was her doing, after all.
-(|)-
"Vido, by all means, please explain to me exactly how you learned that Jona Sederis 'cannot be killed'," grumbled Aria. She glared at the nervous image of the de facto leader of the Blue Suns through the vidcomm. It never ceased to amuse her that her mere presence, even digitally, was powerful.
"It's hard to explain."
"Try."
"I already did when I said she couldn't be killed," he said, completely serious.
"Try harder."
"It's like she's immortal, or some sort of Goddess."
"Yes, she does seem rather attached to that delusion," droned Aria. "Your people have helmet cameras. Show me."
"Whatever you say. Alright, this is attempt number six. M-98 Widow Anti-material rifle modded with an HE ammo block."
The vidcomm was replaced with a recording of a sniper's perspective. The scope was centered on Sederis, who was around six kilometers away and raging about something. The sniper fired straight into the asari's head. Her head snapped backward violently, only for her to shrug it off by cracking her neck. The explosive, anti-material round splattered out across her barrier, killing a dozen other mercenaries that were standing too close. The sniper fired again, to the same result. Then, much to Aria's surprise, Sederis biotically ripped a two story metal beam out of the wreckage and literally threw it at the camera. Then, static.
Aria was silent for a long moment. "I see. Remind me, what are Widows certified to disable, or destroy, in one shot?" she asked chiddingly.
"Armored vehicles. Krogan. That sort of thing."
"Did you try using more of them?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"...well…"
-(|)-
Sederis inhaled the mercenary human's scent, holding her shivering body close by the inside of her armored thighs. "It pleases me that you lack a helmet." The Blue Sun smelled of urine, tears, fear, and the slightest hint of arousal. That wasn't a surprise, as that was just chemistry. Sederis had that with everyone. "Hair is stimulation that is like no other, and I do not wish to be deprived of it."
The woman sobbed uncontrollably and clenched her eyes shut. "Please, take it. Take it and let me go," she begged. "I'll-I'll tell Vido to back off! Okay?! I'll defect and join Eclipse! Please, just let me go. Please."
Sederis hummed wistfully as she biotically sliced her fingers up the human's armored legs, shredding the plating and leaving her groin bare. "Adorable. Naive. Enthralling." She tenderly kissed the back of her head, relishing the soft brush of her brown hair on her lips. "Are your friend's watching?" Sederis gingerly placed her hands on the women's abdomen and sighed, funneling a trickle of dark energy inside of her.
"If they are, they're waiting until I'm dead to fire."
"Oh? That's adorable. Such honor among mercenaries? Unexpected." A spark of blue fire hissed at the bottom of the human's groin plate. "Though, easily corrected. Take solace in the knowledge that your death is not meaningless, as it is a message. " The armor, and flesh, slowly began peeling itself in two. It moved vertically, gradually bisecting her as she screamed.
Sederis loved that part. The moment their mind's shattered and lost countless millennia of cultural evolution. To be reduced to one's most primal, ancient roots of simple blind pain.
"Embrace the void, or be blinded by the sun." Sederis made her eyes go black, and forcibly joined their minds. She submerged the human's mind in a raging river of ecstasy, drowning her consciousness in an endless and infinite climax. It was pleasure for but a moment, but for the rest, it was incomprehensible agony as her body was bisected with surgical proficiency. Sederis shared the sensation, and only amplified it more. The woman wretched a blood curdling scream, unable to breathe, for an eternity within the joining and then finally collapsed in brain death just as her spine was split apart.
Sederis broke the meld, ripped the human in half, bathing herself in the woman's viscera, and savored the new memories she had acquired. They were simple, sweet, and often times violent. The woman's partner was another she had joined with earlier that day, so that was an interesting development.
She was confident that the rest of them would make no moves against her, lest they suffer the same fate.
-(|)-
"After that, the rest of the them retreated, and now nobody else is willing to even try to take her out. I'd execute them if I wasn't shitting my own pants. Figuratively, I mean."
Aria was at a loss for words.
"No, you don't." She ended the call.
Except for that.
She opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again. Nothing. She could defeat the red vorcha, most likely. Reigning Omega back under her rule would gather the necessary troops to do so. Controlling Sederis however, let alone planning for or countering, was clearly impossible.
Of course, Sederis ran Eclipse, and which meant Eclipse could be bought.
Aria glanced over at the hologram of Omega. Casualties rose, damages worsened, and the proverbial grave she was in only got deeper. Little red blips formed big ones as bits and pieces of her station went dark. She had lost control. She wanted, no, needed it back.
Removing the lock down would only make things worse. The Hunt had to continue, and succeed. There was no room for denial or pride. She needed help, and Sederis was the only one capable of delivering it.
She opened up a comm channel to Patriarch. "Patriarch-"
Krogan roars and the rather visceral sounds of a brutal, bare knuckled brawl barked out of the speakers, which wasn't exactly what she had expected to hear. Aria was more accustomed to the old krogan kneeling before her in words, albeit begrudgingly. She grew a bemused expression and ended the transmission, quickly calling Bray instead.
Hopefully, there'd be less insanity on his end.
-(|)-
As Bray watched Patriarch being brutally beaten by a pair of Blood Pack krogan, he couldn't help but wonder why exactly Aria thought it was wise to bring that big idiot along for peace talks and cease-fire negotiations. All he ever did was blabber on about former glory, and how everyone is below himself and Aria. One didn't need to have a big ego to want to beat the shit out of the arrogant old idiot. He was just that damn annoying.
"So, that's zero for three, I guess..." mumbled Bray as he struck the Blood Pack off his omni-tool list. "I'm counting us avoiding Eclipse as a failure since Sederis is running around out there, doing whatever it is that she does."
"Eating people," said Gavorn.
"Eating them out, or actually eating them?"
"Both would be my guess."
"Okay. Definitely going to mark us as zero for three, then. Patriarch would've fucked that one up too, anyway," said Bray, typing a few things into his omni-tool.
Gavorn sighed beside him, looking none too pleased with Patriarch's shenanigans himself. "It's going to be the same damn thing every time. We walk in, the krogan does a grand entrance-" Gavorn flaps his arms mockingly. "-and instantly discredits everything we could possibly say."
"Yup. That's Patriarch."
"You'd think after the second time he'd realize that this shit isn't going to work," grumbled Gavorn. "Should we even intervene at this point? I feel like I'd be wasting ammo."
"Hold on, I'll check." Bray cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "Hey, Patriarch! How you doing over there?"
"FIGHTING LIKE A TRUE KROGAN, MY FRIENDS! THEY MAY-" He roared in pain. "CAUSE ME HARM, BUT THEY CANNOT CRUSH MY SPIRIT, NOR MY LEGACY!"
"Okay, good to know! Also, we're not your friends!" He turned back to Gavorn. "Nah. Sounds like he's got it under control."
Gavorn tightened his mandibles down on his cheeks as he continued to watch the display. "If he says so…" He shrugged. "So, who's next?"
"The Batarian Hegemony," replied Bray, sounding very detached.
"...we can probably just skip that one, right?" said Gavorn, with a hint of concern. Bray didn't like being pitied, but he appreciated that Gavorn wasn't a complete and total ass about everything.
"They've got shitty equipment, soldiers, and will probably try to overthrow Aria within an hour of joining the task force alliance thing." He shrugged. "But they're good fodder for slowing the vorcha down for a few seconds, so we might as well try."
"Fair enough. Update Aria and head out, then?"
"Yeah, sounds good." Bray cleared his throat. "Patriarch! We're going to give Aria a sit-rep and then get going, ok?!" he yelled.
All three krogan roared some more.
"That probably means 'Ok'. Call her up."
Gavorn nodded, but before he could call Afterlife, Aria popped up on Bray's omni-tool.
"Bray, give me an update on your progress. Patriarch seems preoccupied," she said.
"Things are going okay, I guess." Bray scratched the back of his head. "Patriarch is getting beaten up by a bunch of Blood Pack krogan, and nobody wants to help us because the old guy keeps insulting them before we get a chance to speak." He shrugged. "Business as usual."
"Typical. I assume negotiations with Eclipse were an utter failure?"
Gavorn cleared his throat. "The hit you ordered on their leader sent a very strong signal, ma'am. Didn't seem like a good idea to walk into their base and ask for help after that."
"If you think someone like Sederis will take a bounty on her head personally, you're a fool. She has hundreds, if not thousands, already. Vido was just one of the few stupid enough to actually attempt it."
"I thought about that, but I still suggested we should just skip over them. I didn't feel like getting eaten out today," said Bray.
Gavorn elbowed him in the stomach. "Eaten. You didn't feel like getting eaten, you idiot."
"I'm going to assume that was a translator error, and that the both of you actually said that you were on your way there at this very moment," Aria said, scowling.
"Whatever you say, ma'am," said Bray. He had always had an amazing knack for hiding his apathy behind his guttural voice.
"Good. Hire Sederis personally, along with her best. I want this infestation purged as soon as possible. Cost is no object. Understood?"
"Yup. What should we do with Patriarch?"
"His purpose was to be an example of what happens to those who get in my way. Since no one seems to care about that anymore, I'll leave that decision to you two. Remember, I honestly don't care what the outcome is. Just get Sederis."
The call ended and Aria's tried expression vanished from Bray's omni-tool. He looked over to Gavorn and then back to the Blood Pack krogan. "Hey! We're gonna go take care of some other business. Do us a favor and leave him alive, okay?"
One of the krogan snarled into Bray's four eyes. "Why the fuck should we do that?"
"Because regenerating is way more painful than death."
The krogan considered it for a moment, and then nodded. "Good point. What about-"
Bray waved him off. "Don't worry about the body. We'll be back later to pick him up." He opened his omni-tool again and set a waypoint for the Eclipse headquarters. He motioned to Gavorn, and with that they were off to their destination.
"How long until we get there?" asked Gavorn.
"Should be a little over an hour, provided we're not eaten or killed on our way there. I'm assuming negotiations will take a few hours, and that we'll most likely have to fight off a horde of something, so we should be back just as Patriarch is healed up enough to walk."
Gavorn snickered. "You are one evil bastard, you know that?"
"Yup."
-(|)-
It hadn't taken Doctor Inaara Ceres long to get the unconscious spectre situated in Shepard's surprisingly humble room. With the exception of a workbench, scrap paper, pencils and a half-dead plant under a UV lamp, it was entirely bare. Inaara couldn't even find a closet, so where her clothes were remained a mystery.
The spectre was lying on the bed, thankfully still breathing steadily. Her heart rate was fine, and she couldn't find any traces of internal bleeding or popped sutures from their recent turbulent escape. Inaara patted herself on the back on a job well done. A lesser surgeon would have probably killed her by now, but Inaara was anything but ordinary.
She carefully unwrapped the spectre's bandaged head and threw the gauze in a nearby trash can. There it was. The unmistakable face of Tela Vasir, one of the Citadel's finest. She snapped several dozen pictures with her omni-tool and a thirty second vid recording of the asari. Then, thinking ahead, backed up the new data to a few spare OSDs along with a modified credit chit. Orders were orders, after all. Inaara had come too far to slack off in the face of adversity. Vasir needed to live, plain and simple.
"You should wake up soon. I'm sick of people walking in and catching me talk to patients who can't exactly carry on a conversation. They think it's unsightly, or morally wrong, but how is it any different than talking to say..." she points to Shepard's half-dead plant. "...that plant? Carbon dioxide helps it grow, and we spew it out when we talk. So as long as you're vegetative, I couldn't possibly care less of what you have to say. Because you're a plant. You have roots in the bed and...suddenly I'm tired of this metaphor." She scoffed and cupped the spectre's face. "But you are a plant. A plant growing exactly as she should be."
"Taking pictures, I see," said the voice of that infuriatingly inept human nurse assassin. She sounded like a child catching her sister stealing an extra helping of dessert. "I believe the goal was to hide all traces of-"
"Aria already broadcasted her face across Omega." Inaara spun around to face Miranda, a large scowl planted firmly on her face. "These are for me. I get extremely turned on by cadavers, or things remarkably close to that. That's my fetish. Before you ask, no I'm not going to sexually assault a spectre, nor have I ever done so to anyone or anything dead or otherwise. It's a fetish, not a moral perversion. Satisfied?"
The human blinked and cleared her throat. "Ah. Well, I'll just let you get back to work, then." She blushed bright red and spun on her heel, quickly leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.
Inaara rolled her eyes and rewrapped the spectre's head in gauze. Humans; gullible as they come.
-(|)-
Miranda was a rather open minded woman. She had always claimed to be, and there were few times in her life that she could remember where she faltered in that regard and was far too judgmental. However, just because someone was open minded, didn't make it any less difficult to not become uncomfortable with the idea of an asari masturbating to pictures of dead people.
As she walked, or rather retreated, from the asari doctor and her patient, who couldn't be a more perfect definition of an HVI, she couldn't help but notice that her armor's powered endoskeleton wasn't functioning properly. It was becoming more and more difficult for her to walk and maintain her balance. "Fantastic." Groaning, she half-waddled back into the common room, looking none too pleased. She pretended not to notice Mordin's smirk. "Do you have any experience in safely removing damaged, sealed powered combat armor?"
"No. Never had that problem. Equipment always worked perfectly. Excellent support team. Trusted them more than my own hands, at times. Few times. Rather rare, but still did."
That piqued her interest. She didn't know the doctor's service history, but his comments certainly pointed to something a bit more notable than normal. "Oh? Do tell. I've yet to hear many war stories from salarians."
"No."
That was it. No change in tone. No hesitation. Just a big flat no.
"Please?"
"Some other time, maybe."
"You're just saying that so I'll stop asking, aren't you?" she asked, crossing her arms as best she could, which turned out to be not very well. It looked like she was holding a barrel.
"Yes. Lots of work to do, no time to do it. Important!"
"Oh, in that case, do you need any-" She bit her tongue as soon as she saw what was scrolling through one of his many displays. Classified Alliance documentation regarding L2 biotic implants, failures, schematics and all. "...where did you find this information? The station is under a communications blackout, and half of those pages have security clearance tags."
"Do they?" hummed Mordin. "Hadn't noticed. Regardless, easy to acquire information. Simple extranet search. Downloaded relevant data for project to local terminal. Didn't need much."
"Why did you need all of this? Neither of us are certainly meant to see it."
"None of your concern," he said, waving her off as he continued to work fervently.
"Doctor-"
"-Patient confidentiality, exactly! Glad to know that you respect the concept, Lawson. Don't mean to be rude, but have lots of work to do, very little time to do it! Life and death, no exaggeration!" he said, far more quickly and aggressively than Miranda was prepared for.
"Miranda, stop bothering Mordin! He's doing science and it's of the utmost importance that nothing distracts him!" yelled Shepard from within the sealed bathroom.
"Thank you, Karen."
"Yeah, well, thank me by finishing. Faster. Faster would be better."
That was the second time that day Miranda had been shut out by doctors. Perhaps it was something in her bedside manner, or rather the one she incited in them. Whatever the case, she decided that the salarian couldn't do that much harm with obsolete schematics of a defunct piece of tech. She looked over to the bathroom and decided that Shepard would most likely have experience in her current predicament. "I apologize for the intrusion." Miranda managed to waddle to the locked door. "Shepard? Do you have a moment?"
"Yeah, sure, I've got nothing else going on. I'm just sitting on my hands here until someone asks me to do something because I'm a goddamn idiot and don't understand the gravity of this situation what kind of fucking question is that?! Are you blind, deaf and dumb?! Is it 1865?!" She groaned. Loudly. "What the hell is wrong with you? Learn to pay attention or I swear to God, I'm kicking you out."
Miranda flattened her lips into a thin line. That escalated quickly. "...I didn't meant to offend. I just need a little help getting out of my armor. The powered endoskeleton is seizing up, and it's limiting my movement. The damage seems to be the most severe around the pelvis, so walking is no easy task," she said, attempting to sound as calm as possible.
"Oh my God, Miranda." Shepard laughed. "You, by far, have the single worst timing for flirting out of anyone I've ever met."
Miranda sighed softly. She was not at her best today, it seemed. "That wasn't my intention, I assure you."
"Intentions don't mean much when your actions mean something else over and over again, Miranda," lectured Shepard. "You check me out in the elevator at the clinic, when I'm hopped up on painkillers, you give me a once over every thirty seconds when we're in the same room, and now you're asking me to help you with issues regarding your pelvis." The bathroom door slid open to reveal a clean and freshly clothed Shepard with one eyebrow crooked. "Do you actually want my help, or...?"
Miranda nodded, and did her best to appear professional, which was difficult considering her arms were still stuck in front of her. "I'd rather not melt it from the inside with biotics. I don't have a spare set."
Shepard took a step out of the bathroom and examined her very clinically. Still, Miranda wasn't entirely sure if all of the attention on her butt was because of the armor plating, or Shepard's own desires. In either case, as long as she could move on her own terms again, she didn't care. "Yeah, I can probably fix this. Walk on over to the armory and have a look around. I need to have a chat with Mordin."
Miranda nodded and tried to turn around toward the armory, only for her to fall flat on her face. She cursed as she found she couldn't move at all. Not one bit. She scowled as she heard Shepard hold back laughter. "This isn't funny! It's a serious problem!"
"Oh, absolutely."
"Damnit, Shepard!"
"Okay, hold on, I'll just..." Shepard bent down, snickering as she did so. "You look so helpless, it's adorable." As if she were lifting nothing at all, Shepard hoisted Miranda's frozen form over her shoulder and marched over to the Armory. She plopped her down onto a workbench and patted her scarred cheek. "Okay, stay right here and I'll be back soon." With that, Shepard left the Armory and sealed the door behind her.
Miranda, being unable to move, simply frowned. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like she didn't belong. It was not a good feeling
-(|)-
"...all will become one, my brethren! It will become as was foretold in the ancient spires of supremacy. Perfection! Assimilation! When the ensared and liberated are broken, fallen to their knees, the glorious light will descend upon us all with power omniscient!" barked the mad prophet, his increasingly annoying voice bellowing out of every other speaker on the path to the Eclipse headquarters.
The temporary F.O.B. looked anything but. Mortar fire created a makeshift moat filled with...something acidic. Gun turrets lined the entire permitted, and missile batteries covered every possible line of sight on the airfield. It was nothing short of amazing that they had enough of a flat surface to even maintain an airfield, let alone possess the necessary aircraft to call it one. One thing was for sure, Eclipse was not lacking in terms of firepower.
And yet, the front door of the complex was almost entirely blown apart by a combination of massive claw marks, krogan-sized dents, partially melted metal and old fashioned, run-of-the-mill explosives. The Eclipse logo was, however, pristine, above them, complete with bright neon lighting.
Bray wondered how many extras of those they had in storage.
Bray sighed as they approached the structure, starting up at the speakers. "I'm starting to get real tired of that idiot's ranting." Their journey across the station was relatively uneventful. Thankfully, with all of the chaos exploding around them, no one seemed to notice the pair slipping in and out of make-shift barricades and fortifications. Bray considered that they were far more focused on the Red Vorcha to care about them, which was probably the smart decision.
Gavorn walked up to the front door and clicked on the intercom. "I don't like him, either. He called me a blight."
"He calls everyone that."
"Hello, and welcome to the Omega Subsidiary of Eclipse Private Security! If you are in seek of refuge, please leave the premises immoderately or we will use lethal force," clicked the oddly upbeat intercom. The large gathering of turrets simultaneously snapped their barrels to the pair. "If you have other business, such as tribute and business transactions, we ask that you explain your presence and intent, or we will use lethal force. You have thirty seconds to comply."
Bray rolled all four of his eyes. "Aria sent us to hire Sederis."
"Oh did she now?" cooed the intercom, the soothing voice transforming into something far more menacing. "Did she bring me a housewarming gift?"
Gavorn raised a browplate and clutched his rifle tighter. "Uh, no, ma'am. We weren't aware this base was new, strictly speaking."
"Your logic is flawless, turian. Be that as it may, it's still extremely rude to enter someone's home without a gift, you realize. Especially when you're a guest. Not even the queen herself can retain her manners in times of strife. Pitiful."
Bray cleared his throat. "May we come in?"
"You may enter. I'm on the bottom floor. I'm entrusting you two, as messengers from the monarchy, not to disturb the serfs...plebians...servants? Words are tiring. Joining is a far easier form of communication."
Bray motioned for Gavorn to follow him and the duo entered through the doors. The base wasn't anything special to the untrained eye. Just lots and lots of Eclipse soldiers scurrying around, running drills and moving equipment. Bray, however, had four good eyes, and he saw quite a bit more. Sederis was preparing for a much larger war than was necessary on Omega. Half of the explosives looked to have chemical warhead markings, and were clearly Hierarchy property. Gunships that were outfitted with cluster bombs and bunker busters. Most alarmingly were the dozens and dozens of crates of something labeled 'X3'.
Bray shook his head as he headed over to the only elevator in the open aired complex. "Fifteen credits those boxes are filled with Minagen X3." He slapped the 'down' button on the haptic interface.
Gavorn shrugged. "They're not even trying to hide it, so why bother? We should make it more interesting." He hummed and took another look at the growing stockpile. "Okay, one hundred credits that Sederis has her hands on something nuclear."
Bray actually laughed. "Done and done. I've seen some expert smuggling in my day..." They walked into the elevator. "...but I've never heard of anyone pulling off the big one. Bringing in something that huge without raising a few thousand radiological alerts? Impossible."
The elevator doors closed around them and Gavorn keyed the interface to take them to the bottom floor. Apparently it was labeled as 'Subbasement 7', whatever that meant. "Nothing is impossible. I think the Red Vorcha are a good example of that."
"They don't count."
"In what way do they not count?!"
"Because they're very clearly real, obviously."
Gavorn grunted, opened his mouth, closed it, and then just sighed. "You are impossible sometimes, you know that?"
"Yup."
The elevator doors opened to reveal a confusingly exotic office. 'Trophies' and portraits lined the walls, all of them clearly taken from other bases and leaders that had nothing to do with Sederis or Eclipse. Even so, there were hints of asari architecture, Bray could tell. The entire room felt like it curved inward, toward the back, or rather the focal point of the space.
A very neat and tidy desk with a chair turned away from them.
Gavorn groaned and walked over to the desk. "What is this, a bad action vid? Ma'am, we're trying to conduct business-" The chair spun around to reveal an extremely dead asari. Her eyes were stark white and a deep cauterized blade wound adorned her forehead. "...spirits."
Bray widened his eyes a little. "Huh. Guess she's dead."
"As if a blade could harm me," laughed a disembodied voice. The powerful figure of Jona Sederis, armored as usual, flickered into existence atop her desk. She was sitting atop it in a taunting manner, one leg crossed over the other. "Do you have any idea how many shots to the head I've taken? If a massively accelerate grain of sand couldn't overpower me, then how could something so primitive best me in combat?"
Bray shrugged. "If it moved slow enough, your barriers wouldn't react to it. Someone would need one really lucky shot to pull it off, though."
Sederis stared Bray down for a long moment. "...you're not as moronic as-no, wait," she put her finger to her chin and then pointed to Gavorn. "You were the imbecile, not him. Forgive me, I always mistake one of you for the other!"
Bray and Gavorn looked between one another. Gavorn looked far more baffled. "How?" they said in unison.
"Your existence isn't exactly what you would call relevant to me. Yet!" She snapped her fingers.
Four completely armored Eclipse commandos materialized in the elevator behind them, all armed to the teeth with weaponry designed to take down a squad of krogan. They approached Bray and Gavorn at their flanks, two drawing long monomolecular blades and the other leveling their rifles at the duo's heads.
Sederis grinned. "Prove your relevance and I'll allow you to live." She walked over to Bray and Gavorn and patted them both on the cheek. "So. You came to talk business, correct? Let's talk business."
-(|)-
Zaeed's least favorite job, out of the several hundreds he'd had, was without a doubt babysitting. Especially when the person he was babysitting was a really weird bird without any facepaint. Apparently, that meant he wasn't to be trusted and always lied. Thankfully, the solution to both of those interpersonal issues was the same.
A shotgun to the face. Well, the threat of one, at least.
Zaeed sat across from the barefaced turian, staring him down with a M-22 Wraith on his lap. He loudly munched on a bag of chips as he glared at the bird, trying to communicate just how bored he was at that very moment. "Why are you here again?" he asked, not even trying to sound interested.
"If I recall correctly, it was because no one bothered to kill me," the bird replied with a damn creepy smile and tone. It was as if he was charming, but of course that wasn't possible. He was a bird. Birds weren't charming. They had sticks up their asses and nuked shit for fun. "Or perhaps Karen-"
Zaeed tapped his shotgun. "Pretty goddamn sure that she'd resent you for calling her that. For you, she's got two names, but you're only allowed to use one of 'em without getting your skull caved in."
"And what name would that be?"
"Shepard, dumbass. What the hell else would it be?"
"A military rank, most likely," he said, mandibles fluttering. Or something. Zaeed had no idea how to describe the weird things turians did with their faces. "Leadership appears to come naturally to her. She performs the role exceptionally well."
Zaeed shoved a handful of chips into his mouth and glared at the bird. "Uh huh. Sure. How the fuck would you know, bird? You just met her a few hours ago."
Quarn tilted his head. "We're not dead yet. That's proof enough."
Zaeed chuckled. "Yeah. We're not dead yet," he clarified, gesturing between everyone except the bird. "We don't have any dextro food in here, so you'll probably end up with a shotgun sized hole in your head, or starve to death. Just so you know."
Quarn seemed to stiffen at that. "I'll admit, that's really not the best situation for me. But, I'm sure we can work something out."
"Nah," he said, shoving more food he knew was inedible to the turian in his mouth. Stupid bird. "We probably won't. I'm not risking my goddamn neck for a barefaced bird who was dumb enough to surrender. You're basically a P.O.W."
"What if I proved my worth to your team?" he said, mandibles pulling back in what Zaeed was almost positive was a grin. "Surely you have need of an individual such as myself."
"Oh yeah? What can you do that's so special?"
"Sleight of hand. Hiding in plain sight. Impersonating important individuals. Intelligence gathering." Quarn clasped his talons together. "For example: Where did your bag of chips go?"
Zaeed scoffed at that, only to find a moment later that his snack had indeed vanished from his hands. "What the…" He looked up to see Quarn holding the bag teasingly. "How the fuck did you do that?!" He barked as he ripped it out of the bird's hands.
Quarn laughed. "The same way I borrowed your weapon, actually." Just like that, the Wraith was in his lap. Loaded and ready to fire. "Go ahead. Take it back. I'm not much a fan of guns. This was purely for demonstration purposes."
Zaeed scowled at the bird and quickly retrieved his gun before he could change his completely uncharacteristic opinion of guns to something more sensible. Like being a real turian and liking them, instead of a weird one and not liking them. "Do that again and I'm blowing your knees off with this thing."
Quarn grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."
-(|)-
Shepard emerged from the Armory and confirmed that the door was indeed sealed. There was something about Miranda that felt just off to her, though that might have been all the constant flirting messing with her libido combined with the rather sickening amount of drugs she'd ingested in the past thirty hours. Had it been that long? Shepard crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose. She'd honestly lost track of the time. She massaged her temples as she walked over to Mordin's makeshift workstation and slumped down onto a chair with a sigh.
"Do that again and I'm blowing your knees off with this thing," growled Zaeed, gripping his shotgun in a vice as he glared at their turian prisoner. P.O.W. Person. At the moment, he defied classification in Shepard's eyes.
In turn, the turian responded with a grin that was oddly charming. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said, his tone smooth and very out of place. Quarn's demeanor didn't exactly make Shepard uncomfortable or wary of him, but it certainly wasn't normal for a turian to act in the way that he was. It was different, very different, but she had yet to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Shepard frowned and leaned forward, locking her gaze on Zaeed's scarred eye. "Zaeed. Why are you threatening the bird?" she asked, sounding more tired than she wanted to let on.
Zaeed grumbled something violent and gestured angrily toward the bird. "He's a fucking wizard, that's why! Managed to grab my gun and my chips right outta my hands without me noticing!"
Quarn shrugged. "I was attempting to prove my worth so that I may join your team."
Shepard pinched her forehead. She thought she was past this. Done with it. Leadership. Responsibility. Clearly, the galaxy wasn't finished with her yet, because for some reason beyond her comprehension people were still flocking to her. "Look, bird, I don't have a team. We aren't a team. Zaeed and I are business partners, but that's as far as it goes. I'm not some stupid, strung up propaganda puppet for you to rally behind for the sake of unity. We're all in a bad situation, wrong place, wrong time, and the wrong people. Until the spectre wakes up, you two are going to play nice. My ideal afternoon isn't mopping up a dextro-levo blood cocktail! Understood?" Shepard realized she was glowering, and nearly yelling, as the pit of her stomach clenched with rage. She took a deep breath and centered herself. It had been a long day, possibly more. That's all it was. Nothing to worry about.
Zaeed grumbled and slung his shotgun around his back. "Yeah. Fine. Whatever."
Quarn only nodded. Either he was planning something, or he'd listen to her. At the moment, Shepard just didn't care. She turned her head toward Mordin, who was still pattering away on tech that was totally incomprehensible. Which was good, she supposed.
Mordin was hunched over his equipment, fervently typing things into the haptic interface she couldn't possibly fathom. The soft blue of the holo washed over the many pieces of jury rigged matte grey tech piled on the table. "...no, no, no, too much glial tissue. Results in nerve scarring, total implant rejection...maybe if...hm, no, neuropozyne develops dependency. Expensive, debilitating addiction not desired effect...need to replicate L3n PEDOT-cluster interface, smaller scale, only necessary components..." he muttered.
"How's it coming along, Mordin?"
"Excellent progress! Already ran through several hundred lethal implantation procedures! Correct design and approach should be obvious soon." He blinked. "Rather impressed with myself. Working with foreign nervous system and reverse engineering obsolete interface protocols while simultaneously-ah, nevermind. Getting ahead of myself." He waved her off. "Go. Eat. Sleep. Excessive stress-"
"Let me guess," she said with a small sigh. "It only makes my condition accelerate faster?"
"What? No. Simply unhealthy in general terms. Also, lack of chemical energy will kill you if you continue to take...'painkillers'." He frowned. "Never should have given you those. Dangerous. Not clinically tested!"
Shepard shrugged and rested her elbows on her knees. "Too late to go back now, Mordin. Got any more advice for me?"
Mordin actually stopped working to stare directly into her grey blue eyes. Shepard froze, baffled. "Go. Eat. Sleep. Relieve stress. Now." With that he went back to work as if nothing extremely odd or frightening had happened a moment ago.
Shepard swallowed and stood from her seat. She nodded and filled a bag with a portion of her tupari and energy bar bounty. Since she couldn't exactly go take a nap in her room, or really get any privacy, she decided to get Miranda's problem over with. Hopefully, working with her hands would relieve some of the tension she was feeling.
-(|)-
Despite being stuck in the Armory, Miranda couldn't help but be impressed by the armaments Shepard had managed to acquire It was equipped with enough firepower to equip a small army, or a team of insane commandos. Every variety of explosives, heavy weapons, and small arms filled the dozens of shelves and cabinets. Most of it looked salvaged and worn, and she doubted that they had the ammunition to use even half. There were also few cases of armor, and even an old ICT foot locker, the trademark logo barely visible from wear and tear.
There were even a few rudimentary exoskeletons hanging from hooks on the ceiling, all equipped with a plethora of micro-explosives, blades, cut down pistols and sub-machine guns, shock collars, and some odd form of wiring Miranda didn't recognize. Crude, but effective, she supposed.
It wasn't long before Shepard emerged from the shutter doors, carrying a small bag, leaving them open this time. "Okay. Let's get started. Do you have any idea how this suit of yours works?" She walked over to it to inspect it more closely. "Its design is similar to one I've come across before, but I could never get it running. Proprietary firmware, or something. Might've been a power-pack optimization issue, actually..."
Miranda tried to shrug. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you. I can't even perform a diagnostic on it."
Shepard smirked, plugged a small terminal into one of her armor's access ports and typed in a few commands. "Well, that's step one. Two through fifty-thousand are a bit more difficult, even if the last forty-thousand involve lots of alcohol and property damage."
"Hm. You don't seem the engineering type, Shepard."
Shepard shrugged and leaned against the workbench. "Necessity is the mother of invention. Truth be told, I'm really not the type, but Omega forces you to be smarter, faster, and more effective than you are. Either that, or die." She pointed up to the exoskeleton-harness thing hanging from the ceiling. "Which is how I made that thing. Virtually imperceptible to the naked eye, and loaded with enough firepower to hold my ground or escape, depending on the situation. Also helps with bounty hunting."
Miranda hummed, impressed. "I suppose that makes sense." She was silent for a moment. "I'm sort of glad I got stuck with you in here, Shepard. No one else seems to want me around. It's...jarring."
Shepard raised a brow. "Is that so? Did you try talking to Zaeed?"
From across the bunker, Zaeed roared. "SHEPARD! THE GODDAMN BIRD IS STILL A FUCKING WIZARD! HE KEEPS STEALING MY STUFF! LITTLE HARD TO STOP HIM IF YOU WON'T LET ME BLOW HIS KNEES OFF!"
"THEN JUST TIE HIM UP, PUT A SHOCK COLLAR ON HIM AND LOCK HIM IN THE IFV!" Shepard screamed back.
After a few moments, Miranda heard the IFV's ramp seal shut. "He seems preoccupied."
"I'M TAKING A FUCKING NAP! NOBODY WAKE ME UNLESS YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO!"
"OF COURSE, YOUR HIGHNESS!"
"FUCK OFF, SHEPARD!"
Shepard shook her head. "Preoccupied. I wish that were the case. He lost Jayne yesterday, so he's got basically nothing to do but mope at this point."
Miranda frowned and suddenly felt terrible. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I had no idea. Who was she to him, if you don't mind me asking."
Shepard snickered as she eyed the terminal. "His car."
"Is that a local euphemism? I'm not familiar with it."
Shepard shook her head with a grin. "No, no, he named his car Jayne. That's it."
"Ah."
"Yeah." The terminal beeped and Shepard scanned the data. "Okay, this one is simple. The hydraulics or...something, I don't actually know how these power suits work, but whatever, there's a thing in your pelvic region that needs to be reset manually." She grabbed a toolbox and began looking through it. "So, while I work, tell me about yourself! Namely…" She turned to glare straight into Miranda's eyes with so much intensity that it nearly startled her. "If you're with the Alliance." She brandished an angle grinder in a very threatening manner. "Think very carefully before you answer. Remember, that armor you're wearing doesn't protect your face."
Miranda was certain she wouldn't feel any safer even if she still had her helmet. She needed to play this just right, or everything would fall completely apart even more than it already had. She couldn't afford to instigate any negativity between herself and Shepard. Not yet. Failure was not an option.
Not that was anything new, of course.
"At one point. Biotics training would be next to impossible without them."
Shepard nodded. "Ok. Fine." She began doing whatever it was that she was doing to her armor, moving the deadly power tool out of range of Miranda's throat. "Do you actually know me, or were you bluffing for some weird reason?"
"Not a lot. Mostly that you, as I was informed, were very much dead."
"How much?"
"Everything the Alliance blasted on ANN over the past decade, so you were a little hard to miss. And they said you were dead, which again is obviously not the case," she said, studying exactly how quickly Shepard was adapting to working with foreign technology. She switched out tools in an instinctive manner. After all, this was the woman best known for her ability to improvise.
"No, I meant how dead. That's the weird part, not the other stuff. Anyone with half a brain and extranet access could figure out the rest."
"Oh. Completely? I wasn't aware there were different levels of dead. It's not exactly common knowledge, though." That was it. Lead her toward the right truth. The one she'd always suspected, but was never able to confirm.
Shepard snorted. "Obviously. I'd like to think that I'd know if I was dead." She shrugged. "If I'm a ghost, I did my job right. Until recently, I was enjoying my life of relative anonymity."
"Considering how much they buried your existence, even going so far as splitting up your accolades to those who'd served and died beside you, that shouldn't be too much of a problem. Provided we're able to survive this ordeal, of course."
Then, Shepard laughed. It was very dry and utterly humorless. The right truth. "They would do that, wouldn't they? Clever, clever, clever. Ooh, and technically true! If I wasn't literally dying already, I'd die of irony."
"You're dying?"
"What? No, of course not! Who said I was?"
"You did, just now."
"No I didn't."
"Yes, you did. I just heard you."
"Are you calling me a liar in my own home?"
"Oh! No, no, I would never-"
"Good. Because it sounds like you were doing that, so I'm relieved to hear that you're not. Let's move on; we'll continue this conversation never." Shepard reached into her bag, inhaled several energy bars and downed an entire container of Tupari in record breaking time. It was both disgusting and mesmerizing.
Miranda nodded and made a mental note to follow up on this fact at a later date. It was unexpected, and could potentially cause the downfall of them all. Shepard wasn't historically one to jeopardize the fate of the mission due to her own personal state, but then, she wasn't the woman she once was. She wasn't Commander Shepard any longer. Yet, if they were to survive this, she would have to be once more. If only temporarily.
"Moving on, then. What do you think our next move should be, Commander?"
Shepard curled her lips into a snarl as she pulled a knife out of nowhere to Miranda's jugular. "I do not wear tags. I am not a Marine. Do not call me that again. Ever." Shepard sheathed her blade and continued on her work.
Miranda cleared her throat. She felt her arms unlock. She should have known better than to try something so blatant. Still, logically, if it was a role she'd played for the majority of her adult life, it should have been one that she could easily slip back into with only the slightest of nudges in the right direction. "I apologize. I didn't mean to offend." She'd expected resistance, but not to this degree.
"I don't care, Lawson-"
"Miranda is fine," she interjected. First name basis. Familiarity fostered a stronger bond. Trust.
"Fine. Miranda. I have no idea what we're supposed to do next, because it's not my goddamn job to know that. Know what is? Keeping myself alive and healthy." She shoved another energy bar in her mouth. "By eating," she said, slipping in a few oddly non-descript pills between chews. "And taking my meds. I'm willing to forgive your little mistake there if you, not to be old fashioned, break bread with me. Or don't and go back to 'helping' Doctor Ceres with no motor functions." Shepard tossed Miranda one of her snacks from the large pile beside her.
Miranda caught it, unwrapped it, and took a bite. She crooked her lips to the side. "I doubt she'd accept my help if I even offered." That asari was not overly fond of her. Breaking bread seemed a far better option, even if it was old fashioned. Incredibly, actually. Biblical, even. "Even for a biotic, you eat a rather excessive amount, Shepard," remarked Miranda, honestly more curious than she'd meant to be.
"Doctor's orders.", she said with a shrug. "Triple my daily caloric intake or things get very bad, very fast." Shepard ate more. And more. It was getting ridiculous.
Miranda raised her brows slightly. "Oh." She looked at Shepard's abdomen, and then at the snoring man on the couch. "I hadn't thought...well, regardless, congratulations", she said with a half-genuine smile. Everything had just become impossibly more complicated. Miranda held very few things sacred, and not even the pisshole that was Omega could strip them from her. "When are you due?"
Shepard paused a moment, looking at her like she'd just ousted herself as a witch. "...not sure, but soon. Doctor Solus said he needed time to figure the safest method of delivery."
Miranda shook her head, confused. "That can't be right. There's no way you're more than a month along." She hated that. Only a month. If only she'd gotten here earlier...
"Honestly, I have no idea how far along I am…" she lamented. "Or how long this has been going on. It's not something I'm comfortable talking about," Shepard frowned, staring directly at her. "I'm also very surprised you even know about this. I suppose Mordin doesn't hold doctor-patient confidentiality as highly as I'd thought."
"It's no more than a month, I swear." Miranda chuckled. Ease the tension. This was a good thing, not a cruel twist of fate that no one ever needed to know about. "No, don't worry, he didn't say a word. I haven't spoken to him much at all, honestly. Though, of the few times I did, he went out his way to remind me that I shouldn't be asking about patients. He seems of the trustworthy sort.", she said comfortingly, unconsciously covering her stomach with her hands. "...and it's not the most difficult thing to figure out, you know. I've read a few studies about human biotic parentage-"
"Wha-" Shepard choked on her snack and coughed violently, her eyes wide in shock. She swallowed, forcing her food down the correct pipe. "Do you think I'm pregnant!?" she spat.
"...aren't you?" irked Miranda, smiling nervously. "With twins? You're...eating for three…" She gestured meekly to the sandwich with her head. She'd made another mistake, but anyone could have made this one! This one wasn't her fault. It was simply a misunderstanding.
"Do you see fat on me?" she snarled, glaring at Miranda as she roughly outlined her body with an open palm. "Anywhere?! No, I'm not fucking pregnant!"
"I apologize. I made an assumption." Miranda blushed bright red, outwardly embarrassed but internally overjoyed. "If that's not the case, then why are you eating so much?"
"None of your goddamn business is why," growled Shepard, her pupils dilating. She bit her bottom lip as she stared far too long into Miranda's eyes. "In fact, stop talking." The woman's blue-grey eyes lowered down to the fresh scars on her cheek. She moved into Miranda's personal space and brushed her thumb against it. "I swear to God if you check me out one more time without out actually delivering on all this fucking flirting and teasing you've been doing, I'm throwing you out on the street." Shepard flipped a switch on the wall, closing the armory from the inside. "You want me. I'm stressed out of my fucking mind and, honestly, I'm not too against the idea." She brought her lips dangerously close to her ear. "So either fuck me, or fuck off."
Her armor unlocked. Shepard had fixed it.
Miranda froze for a moment. She hadn't intended on this eventuality. Not even remotely. It was true that she was keeping a close eye on Shepard, and that she'd been using flirtatious comments in order to make things more casual and natural between them, but that was all to get closer to her. Not physically, just in terms of trust. Of course, it seemed obvious how all of that could be misinterpreted now. Refusing could result in failure of her mission, so she couldn't, even if she didn't feel any sense of attraction toward the other women. At least none that she was willing to admit.
Miranda crushed her lips against Shepard's, pulling in by her hair, and not a second later did she feel Shepard violently throw herself into her. She cleared off the workbench and began methodically stripping her out of her armor. She peeled her out of her undersuit, leaving her perfect form bare on the cold metal platform. Before she could even react, Shepard's mouth was between her thighs with such fervor and sexual aggression that Miranda was worried she might literally have trouble walking-
Miranda blinked. She couldn't feel anything. That wasn't right. Not right at all. She looked down at the woman between her legs, who had been so overwhelmingly eager just moments ago. Shepard wasn't moving. Miranda began to panic. She was completely naked in the middle of a warzone with the only woman who could actually get her out of it alive, and now that woman was….snoring.
Shepard was snoring. Shepard had passed out before being able to fuck her. Miranda buried her head in her hands, completely unsure of how to react to the situation. In all honesty, she was both offended that her physical perfection was clearly insufficient stimulation for the woman, and relieved that she didn't have to go through with the ordeal.
"I hate Omega. I really, really, really hate Omega."
-(|)-
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Miri and Ceres have their own agendas, it seems. The hints are there if you look for them. For Metal Gear Solid fans, the flower in Shepard's room is the Grass Lily. That is exactly what you think it means.
To everyone who kept me on your follow and author alert list, and again I am so freaking sorry this took so long, thanks for sticking around! I cannot tell you how much that means to me. Everytime I saw my e-mail pop up with "New Follower/Favorite" alert, I felt so damn guilty.
I must have written around 90,000 words of content for this chapter alone, only to have to scrap the vast majority of it for one reason or another. Perhaps parts will find their way back into the story. Who knows?
Feel free to share your crazy theories in PMs or reviews! Every critique, no matter how small or scathing, is helpful.